


Ffoliot

by just_ann_now



Category: Swordspoint Series - Ellen Kushner
Genre: Backstory, F/M, Light-Hearted, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-23
Updated: 2011-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-27 22:29:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/300728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_ann_now/pseuds/just_ann_now
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How a plucky boy invented his own name, and in doing so captured a lady's heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ffoliot

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheWrongKindOfPC](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWrongKindOfPC/gifts).



Their housemaid was out sick that day, so Susan brought in the tray herself. _A very important visitor,_ her father had mentioned at luncheon, _coming on urgent business on behalf of the Duchess._

"Oh, Susan, my dear, thank you. This is Marcus - " her father faltered a moment. "Err, Marcus..."

"Just Marcus," the young man smiled, taking the tray out of her hands and setting it on the sideboard. He extended his hand. His handshake was very firm. "I'm pleased to meet you." Susan smiled in return.

~*~

Susan stared down at the calling-card on the porcelain tray. "Marcus Ffoliot" it read, the handwriting crisp and precise on the creamy card stock.

Her mother looked over her shoulder. "Marcus Ffoliot," she said. "Who's that?" she asked, passing the tray on to her husband.

"Marcus Ffoliot," he replied. "Why, that's, that's, the Duchess's factotum, business manager, whatever you call him. Nice fellow. He stopped by the other day, and one day last week, too, remember? Don't recall ever hearing his last name, though. Unusual, isn't it? Oh, did that card come to you ladies? For a social call? You must have enchanted him, Susan."

"Now, Father, don't be silly, all I did was offer him chocolate and a slice of almond cake." Susan laughed.

"Such an impressive young man," her father continued. "He manages all the Duchess's affairs, and very efficiently, too. Of course there are personal secretaries, social secretaries, estate managers, and who-know-what else, but he's the one in charge. And no training, not a bit of it! None of this University foolishness for him, apparently, though the Duchess Tremontaine is happy enough to find the brightest of the University men and hire them on. Just keeps on getting richer and richer, and this young man, Marcus in the thick of it, orchestrating it all. "

"Sounds as though he'll be a fine catch for someone some day," her mother said pointedly.

~*~

"Your name is quite unusual," Susan said, grasping for any conversational straws she could. She should be better at this, she thought, all those lessons in dancing and deportment, the luncheon and cotillions, rowing parties, picnics; the faux-society invented by the City's prosperous middle class in admiration and imitation of the rarefied world of the nobility, which they could never, ever hope to enter.

Yet Marcus was apparently not of that world, either. _Neither fish nor fowl_ , her father had once said in describing him. But he was so gentle, courteous, amusing without being condescending. There was maturity to him, but also a boyish grace and charm that set him apart from any of the other young men who came calling.

Still, she had never actually entertained a young man by herself. She probably should have called for a chaperone, since her father had returned to his office after luncheon, and her mother had gone to her room with a sick headache. Surely, if she left the door open, and kept the housemaid running back and forth for more chocolate, strawberries, shortbread, it would be _almost_ the same as being chaperoned?

"Marcus? It's not all that unusual, really. Oh, do you mean 'Ffoliot?' Do you like it? I gave it to myself," Marcus replied. His eyes were dark brown, long-lashed; very beautiful eyes, really.

"I'm sorry, what?" She nearly upset her cup. "You gave it to yourself?"

Marcus folded his hands on his lap. He took a deep breath, like a schoolboy about to give a speech. "Yes, I did. I'm a bastard -" he looked up to catch her reaction and she quickly concealed her gasp. He took a breath and went on. "And was never called anything but Marcus. The Duke took me in, gave me clothes to wear and food to eat. He gave me a room of my own, with a bed and a fireplace. I didn't have to be cold and hungry any more. I had a home."

Marcus paused, gazing out the window. A flurry of finches were at the feeder, squabbling over seed. He smiled at them, and then at Susan, before continuing. "He tried me out at a variety of household tasks - boot boy, cook's helper, things like that. Somehow he got the idea that I was smart enough to learn to read, and wonder of wonders, hired a tutor from University just for me. The other servants didn't like it much at first, but it was Riverside House, after all; the Duke did as he pleased. We were all proud to be part of his household."

Susan nodded. What an unconventional household it must have been! She had heard gossip about the Mad Duke and his outrageous goings-on, everyone in the city had, but never a word about a well-run household or young servants being taught to read. It's a pity, she thought, that so many more unpleasant stories go around about people than pleasant ones.

And Marcus ... She knew she ought to shocked by his forthrightness - would he have dared to use that word in front of her mother? - but his tale was so compelling in its honesty, its matter-of-factness, that she felt honored that he had trusted her so much as to speak so. "Please, please go on," she said.

"My tutor wasn't particularly good at tutoring," Marcus continued. "He liked to drink, but once I got the basics down I could figure out reading pretty much for myself. The Duke had a huge library at each house, and had me read out loud to him, for the practice, he said. We read - well, all kinds of things," he finished sheepishly. Susan took a sip of her tea, trying to not to laugh.

"But one thing about my tutor, Anders - he had exquisite handwriting. The Duke's was a horrible scrawl, and mine is, well, readable, but Anders's handwriting was, I can't even begin to describe how beautiful it was. One afternoon, I remember it was snowing, and he kept pouring brandy into his tea. I said something about his handwriting and then he just started writing words, nonsense words, pages and pages of them on the expensive paper that the Duke insisted we use." Susan giggled at the idea. "For some reason he wrote the word "Ffoliot," and when I saw that word on the paper I thought it was one of the most gorgeous things I'd ever seen, the pattern of the letters so crisp and elegant. 'What does it mean?' I asked him. 'It means nothing at all,' he said, 'It means whatever you make of it.'

"I always remembered that, and one day, when Katherine had her solicitors over to handle some other matters, I asked if I could take it legally, as a proper last name. It's 'Ffoliot,' it's mine, and I mean to make something of it."

 _Oh, Marcus Ffloliot,_ Susan thought. How can I _not_ be enchanted by a man who chose his own name because he liked the pattern of the letters? You will definitely make something of it. I think I'd like to be a part of that.


End file.
